Orange cup of coffee after a hike; maple seed- pod swirls through sunlight.
Category: At Home
Our Own Front Porch
The sun is pouring through the front window and I’m trying to figure out what to write. I have little time. I’m working at the bookstore today. I’ve tried reading to see if it spurs me to write something interesting. I’ve read some great lines that I wish I wrote. I see time running out […]
Stretch
Decades ago, a friend gave me a bookmark that read: “Stretch yourself for greatness and for height.” (George Chapman, perhaps?) Lately I’ve been stretching myself. I’m not taller. And I think this stretching means I have more deadlines. Which means I’m tired. I’m writing this blog before I turn to more work. Prepping for the […]
My Beauty Uniform
My Beauty Uniform is a stretched-out sweater, pilling everywhere, light brown to highlight my fine-tresses. My Beauty Uniform is capturing your joy, the way your smile starts slow, slow enough that only I know you might flash a grin that makes people who think they know you take a closer look. My Beauty Uniform is […]
The days shorten, the deadlines thicken.
The days shorten, the deadlines thicken. Make haste while it doesn’t rain. Relish the crush of the leaves underneath feet. The days shorten, the deadlines thicken. A crash: the shower curtain gives up its elasticity forever. The leaves ground into carpet, the vacuum cleaner waiting. The days shorten, the deadlines thicken. I wake early, write […]
A New Fixed Place
A New Fixed Place by Nancy Schatz Alton I still see you in your broad striped onesie, blue & minty green watch you roll across the wood floor: you propel yourself where you want to go. I read that I was your fixed place. Slowly, I am no-longer-your-fixed place. You are becoming your own […]
The Edges of Our Comfort Zones
For work, I’ve been researching learning. Did you know that the deepest learning comes when we are at the edges of our comfort zone? That our brains remember that learning because more neurons are firing? More neurons are firing perhaps because we are kind of freaking out in the uncomfortable space. And I’m saying perhaps […]
Hummingbirds & Hips
Hummingbirds & hips by Nancy Schatz Alton My left hip holds the unnameable; the nerves that pulse here stop me from running & yet these strong legs still hold me up (like the tree trunk out front that refuses to die) & bring me to windows to spy hummingbirds. I have a feeling these […]
Real Love
If I love what is real, I love the trees outside my window in the same way that I love bad endings. The click of a phone line that ended a friendship. The way it opened me up into seeing what still surrounds me. My husband asking me if I missed my friend. My husband […]
November
November* by Nancy Schatz Alton What will I miss when I’m gone? The smell of my Grandma Becker’s house, her front steps. The run over to Grandma Schatz’s porch, her kitchen with the square of wood I stood on and moved by moving my hips, the ceiling decorated with homemade noodles, her over-sweetening my cereal […]